


Desk is the better part of valour

by kid_n_the_hall



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Desk, F/M, Last night shift, Saturday smutlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kid_n_the_hall/pseuds/kid_n_the_hall
Summary: If you pull, provoke or push things too fiercely they will eventually snap. This is a valid statement regarding Jack’s self-control as well.





	

Jack needn’t have worried so much about Phryne violating his rules of propriety concerning his office. Ultimately it wasn’t she who took the final leap to break (and enter).

 He did.

If you pull, provoke or push things too fiercely they will eventually snap. This is a valid statement regarding Jack’s self-control as well.

*

So  you’ve wandered through grim cases for days on end. You’ve had an awful week, a terrible day. It seems the foulest scrapings of humanity decided to set up shop in your jurisdiction. Some of the cases you’ve managed to close, but without the usual satisfaction closure brings. It just leaves you with more paper work and a bitter aftertaste.

There is one person whose comfort you seek before all other’s. One person who can soothe you with a look. With a hand on your cheek. Who can smooth out your brow’s furrows with a gentle thumb.

The one person that dares to poke what hurts and weighs you down to possibly shift it and ease your burden.

If she’s with you when you break, what would you do?

You’d reach out, find her hand and pull her to you. You’d look up to see that she understands and regrets what’s eating you.  You’d lean in to rest your forehead against her breastbone. You’d try to breathe her in, hear her heart, borrow some of her strength. You’d feel her hands, one on your shoulder and one in your hair. Letting it loose. The hair, the tension.

 And you sit like that for some time.  You in your chair and her perched on your desk in front of you. Like a worshipper before an altar.

It calms you for a while, but you’re overwrought. You just need to feel something else. Something good. You need to feel her. More of her. Just more. So you rest your hands on her hips. Put your head to her lap. Her scent here is less perfume and more Phryne.  You bury your nose in the nook where thighs meet torso.  You’re overcome with the need to taste her, you let that impulse wash over you and take some of the distress away.

*  
  
“Are you certain? In your office?”

“I need to associate my desk with something beyond these files.”

She nods. Your hands trace her legs, from her ankles up, over her thighs. Breath hitch as stockings end and softer skin emerge. You venture further, finding the waistline of her french knickers, releasing two tiny buttons. She raises her hips, ever so little, to let you slide the knickers down to the floor. You gather the fabric of her skirt, letting it rest at her hips. You unbutton her blouse as you kiss her, her answer drowns out your worries. You kiss her neck, her clavicle. She’s tugging at your tie. You tug at another piece of silk freeing her breasts. Capture them in your hands, feeling her nipples awaken against your palms.  She lets little breathy sounds escape that makes your heart flutter. Your hands are back on her thighs, your mouth on her breasts, on her nipples. Thumbs approaching wet heat, drawing circles, sequences of o’s and eights.

The shrill sound of a telephone reminds you of locks to be bolted.

Back at the desk, you let your tongue work on the eights, damp curls tickle your lips. Two sets of throaty breaths mingle together, it’s calming and exciting. Fingers join mouth to please her, the eights continue, joined by a finger. Then two, sliding, scissoring within her. The wetness, scent and taste of her cunt send you reeling and there is no other place you’d rather be. Her thighs tense with anticipation of release. There’s a sharp tug in your hair and a whimper, unclear who uttered it.

“Up”

Standing , still between her thighs, fevered kisses mix with silent moans. Phryne’s fingers working on your fly. You take a rosy nipple between your teeth, then sucking it, pinching the other. She’s made short work of your trousers and is guiding your cock to her core, you hide a rough inhale against her neck. A soft whisper in your ear, a plea. With one push you sheathe yourself completely, and for a second, maybe two, you feel that rush of bliss and surprise. Surprise that you never seem to remember exactly how magnificent those first seconds feel, how time seems to bend.  She ushers you on, determined hands on your back, legs wrapped around yours. Breaths, heart rates, pace, all increasing. Thrusting, swaying, causing the desk to shift. You’re delirious. Fabric of time is still distorted.

She looks at you, she can’t hide the thrill the location gives her, the thrill of broken principles. You’re close to the edge but won’t fall without her. A kiss. Her upper thigh under your hand, a hooded nub against your thumb. Gentle strokes, light tapping.  How you’d think to caress her by morse code you’ll never know. Dash, dot, dash, dot. She’s responding keenly. Dash, dash, dash. Nails digging into your back, pulling you close. Closer to her, closer to climax. Dash, dash.  She holds her breath, you feel yourself break once more, you manage a final dot. And with that she follows, release claiming you both.

*

“That was work quite thoroughly done, Inspector”

“You know I don’t like to leave anything unfinished at my desk”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry for the terrible pun that is the title.
> 
> And now I'm off night shifts, which results in more sleep for me (yay!) so in tribute of that I thought I'd throw this thing up.


End file.
